


Apology (Not?) Accepted

by xxELF21xx



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Continuation, France I'm sorry, M/M, Read Confessions if and American first please!, how I make up to France
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" 'Listen,' he drags, voice light and heavy, 'if I didn't do that, would he be your "lover" now?' Blue eyes steeled, jaw clenching painfully. 'Listen,' he mocked, wheat golden hair rustling with the wind, 'you'll apologise to England.' The Physics professor glowered. The Frenchman only sighed, 'will do.' The sudden stop made America jerk back a little, confused as to why he was being held back. 'But if you hurt that boy, I'm going to have words with you.' </p><p>The chill that runs up America's spine is nerve-wrecking. "</p><p>Continuation of "Confessions of an American".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apology (Not?) Accepted

**Author's Note:**

> Long overdue.
> 
> If you haven't, please read "Confessions of an American" to understand this story. :)

Three months. The boy has been avoiding him for  _three months._ 'By gods,' he groans, flopping over his chair with the grace of an elephant. The chair creaks beneath him, and the action itself earns a few curious glances from his colleagues. The American fixes his glasses, brain running a mile a minute. 'Need to find a way to get England to attend his language classes again,' he mutters. 

Three months, that was a quarter of a year. 'Fucking hell,' he hisses, glaring at a picture of Newton. 'Is there a problem, Jones?' An irritated Swedish asks, eye bags as deep as the earth's core itself sitting heavily underneath light blue eyes. 'Berwald, I need  _help._ I don't understand how long three months are.' The Math teacher blinks, 'a quarter year, Alfred.' America whines, kicking at his drawer. 'But it may be a lifetime if you two don't finish marking your papers,' Elizabeta, the Food and Nutrition professor—and fellow Physics professor as well—tuts. Wheeling his chair to the table beside him, America—or Alfred F. Jones—sits himself between the two teachers. 'Eliza, Berwald, how can one person skip a lesson for three  _months?'_ The Hungarian almost splatters red ink all over herself. 'Was it that boy. . . Uhm, England?' Berwald nods silently. 'Poor boy, Italy was crying the other day because England skipped Italian for a long while too. America, can't you do something? I mean, you're pretty close to him, right?' 

America gestures wildly, 'I'm  _trying,_ Hungary!' A shout of "America! Phone from Lang Department!" breaks the conversation, and America replies hurriedly before picking up the receiver. 'Hey! Prof America here! How can I help?' was the standard greeting, and America waited for the other person to speak up while he continued grading papers.  _'Amérique?_ Are you free at the moment?' The scribbling of his pen stopped, placing the pen down, he answered. 

'Sure. Let's meet up.'

*

Three months **. He's been avoiding Language Classes for three fucking months.** Breathe in, breathe out. 'Arthur Kirkland, you can do this. Just—Just go into class, for God's sake. It's just Italian class, there's no Frenchman here. . .' He sounded so  _fake,_ Christ. 'Forget it,' he snaps at himself, turning away to get the heck out of this corner. Ignoring shouts from the Italian professor, England ran in the direction of the dorms. 

*

'Listen,' he drags, voice light and heavy, 'if I didn't do that, would he be your "lover" now?' Blue eyes steeled, jaw clenching painfully. _'Listen,'_ he mocked, wheat golden hair rustling with the wind, 'you'll apologise to England.' The Physics professor glowered. The Frenchman only sighed, 'will do.' The sudden stop made America jerk back a little, confused as to why he was being held back. 'But if you hurt that boy, _I'm going to have words with you.'_

The chill that runs up America's spine is nerve-wrecking.

France smiled, eyes twinkling with a sort of guilt. 'I will apologise to England. To  _Arthur._ If you can get him to go to his language classes. Italy and Romano have been angrily hounding me. Being the Head of the Language Department is the worst. Yao has it easy with the Arts and Nutrition Department. I wish I took that position instead.' America jerked his arm away from the Frenchman's grip, shrugging his jacket closer, Autumn was rather early this year. 'You're in the Arts and Nutrition Department too, just that Yao has more experience with all three subjects and a few languages. Maybe math.' France sighed again, leaves crinkling under his shoes, 'do you think England will become a language professor if given the chance?' America shrugs, kicking at the leaves, 'he's pretty talented at everything but cooking. Why not you try to mentor him? I've never seen Romano cry before. Especially when England managed not to set the stove on fire after a class. And Italy was pretty damned pleased when England managed to prepare something edible for his exam.' 

France groans, 'I would, if I could.' The bell chimes boom across the campus, causing ripples in the waters of the large lake situated in the campus. 'But I will keep to my word.' France says before leaving, notebook and pen in his hands. 'Better get to class before Greece does a check in,' America mutters, grabbing his bag off the bench and rushes off. 

*

Physics wasn't all that interesting today, America thought it would help if everyone did a self study session—'if you have a doubt, call for me!'—and England decided he would do his homework from Language. Just because he skips his classes doesn't mean he doesn't do his work. Twirling his pen, the blond scowled, eyes shifting from one side to the other. 'Professor America, is there a problem?' America whirls around, humming, 'no, not really.' Because of Australia's absence, England had a peaceful day, but now, England wished that the Australian had been there. America unceremoniously plopped himself down onto Australia's seat—right in front of him—and glanced at England's paper. 'You know, this is a  _Physics_ self-study session?' England studiously ignored him. 

Crumpling onto England's table, America placed an arm over the worksheet, causing a pair of stormy green eyes to glare at him. 'You feeling better?' A hesitant nod. 'Do you wanna go back to Language?' A nod. 'Are you confident that you won't get jumped on?' He tenses up, fingers curling tightly around the pen. 'Hey, hey, breathe.' America cooes, ruffling England's hair, 'breathe.' England shaiky exhales, shaking his head. 'No? Eng— _Arthur,_ we need to have a closure. France is really sorry, and everyone has been hounding him in the Lang Department —' 

'It's the Lang _uage_ Department, sir.' England interrupts, eyes trained on the table. 'Fine. The entire Lang Department is chasing him to do something to get you to attend classes. Languages are really important, you know? And attendance makes up fifteen percent of your overall grade.' England sighs, hands fidgeting, 'not alone.' America releases a sound of confusion. 'I don't wanna meet him alone,' Engkland clarifies. America flashes a shit-eating grin, whooping loudly—'America, keep it down,' Greece (A.K.A Head of the Maths and Sciences Department) warns, tone lazy yet menacing. 'Sorry, Herakles, I was just excited.' Greece glances behind him, makes a noise of irritation, and closes the class door—before standing up. 'Last ten minutes! I have time for a few more questions before I flash your marks on the screen!' A collective groan-scream erupted as America waved a student marksheet while grabbing a marker. 'No questions? Are you guys sure on this topic? Maybe you wanna hear my complains on how badly this test was done? Prof Hungary's students could do so much better than you—I'm ashamed.' The entire class was thrown into chaos as students shouted questions. 

'Professor Hungary spends more time on teaching rather than holding self study periods,' England scoffed, earning a snicker from the person beside him.

*

Clutching a file tightly against his chest, England moves stiffly on the way to the Language block. America glances worriedly, the hand that he was holding shook uncontrollably, giving away the calm mask England had put on. 'At least you brought your homework.' America jokes, earning a kicked look from the younger boy. They pass Romano—the Spanish and Italian language professor, as well as Food & Nutrition and Art professor—and Spain—Food & Nutrition professor as well as guidance counselor and possibly the chillest fencing professor/coach ever—talking about the recent tests. 'Why not you take Spanish? I can't run all the classes on my own, and Feli can't understand half of the Spanish language.' Romano scowled, fingers drumming on the test papers. 'I could appeal, do you think your grandfather will allow it?' Romano snapped, ranting about Spain's insensitivity. Spain apologized profusely, sending and apologetic and worried look to America and England. 

France's lesson just ended, and he was joking around with the Prussian professor when the duo entered. 'Oho! England! How are you?' Prussia asked, eyes glinting evilly, 'fine thanks,' was the curt reply. Prussia snorted and messed with England's hair before leaving. As soon as he was gone, England hid behind America. 'England, we talked about this. I'll be waiting by the tables at the very end. If you feel endangered, call. 'Kay?' England stuttered, feet shuffling nervously. America walked away, leaving England vulnerable. 

Taking a few steps back, England hands the file to France, apologizing all the way. 'It's okay, Arthur, you can hate me,' France assured, 'I'm so sorry as well. I needed that idiot boyfriend of yours to take the hint.' America gave a shout of protest, earning a fond smile from England. 'But how did you. . . ?' England trailed off, standing straighter. 'America has classes in the Maths and Sciences block at 3.15pm on Tuesdays, and his attention would be placed on his surroundings when he is thinking of a particular English boy with emerald eyes. I checked it four times over.' England grew bright red, shrinking in on himself. 'Sh-shut up! Stupid frog!' France gave England a sour look, 'stop calling me that! Ever since you were young, you've been calling me that! Stop it!' 

England stuck his tongue out childishly, calling the language professor names of different sorts. Finally, France decided that by making fun of England's eyebrows, he could get the English boy to quieten down. 'Haha! At least I don't have caterpillar eyebrows!' America came down to check on the commotion. 'I find them cute, by the way.' England's cheeks dusted a light pink, 'shut it, twat,' he grumbled. The two adults grinned.

'I will keep my end of the bargain, Jones. I'll teach him how to cook and bake. But you—you'll have to love him until the day he dies. You hear?' America had never grinned or blushed any harder in his life.

 

* * *

 

 

_ Cut scenes:  _

_The following scene(s) didn't make the cut for the story, but I wanted to put it in anyways. So enjoy(?)_

America's grin dropped, 'wait a minute.  _Ever since you were young?_ How long have you guys known each other for?'

England cast a calculated look toward America, whilst hiding behind France. 'You tell him.' England pushed.

France coughed awkwardly, 'did either of us mention that I knew England's older brother? He was in the same year as me. And, uhm, he's also called "Scotland", or Alastair Kirkland? No?' America's eyes dilated in fear.  _'I'm dating the Discipline Master's brother?'_  

'He's also the Head of the Mythology and Literature Department ever since professor Greece transferred over. And is teaching Biology, Chemistry and certain languages.' England pointed out. 

 _'I'm fucking screwed,'_ America concluded.

-+-

'Roma! Ro-ma-no! I have news!' Spain raced across the campus garden, knocking Romano onto his butt. Supported by his hands, the Italian glared at the intrusion. 'Headmaster Rome has given the okay! I can teach Spanish!' 

Blushing, Romano stood up, wiping the dirt off his hands. 'I know,' he mumbled, 'I was the one who brought it up anyways.' Spain grinned, green eyes twinkling with love and joy. 

'Thank you, Lovino.' The Spainard closed the space between them, a small smile played against Spain's lips.

+-+

 _Knock, knock._ An unrecognizable slur allowed the Kiwi entrance. With a sigh and a yelp, New Zealand rushed over to fuss over the mess that was his (boy)friend. 'I leave you alone for three days, Aussie, and you manage to injure your hand, catch a cold and fever, and forget to inform the teacher. Am I your mother?' Australia snuggled against the heat of New Zealand, hugging him close. 

'Take care 'f me, pl'se.' Australia mumbled, New Zealand sighed, pulling the blankets above the Australian's torso. 'Let me go first,' he smiled. A gentler sentence wad then said by the poor Australian brunet.

'I love you.'

'I love you, too.'

 

**Author's Note:**

> AANNNDDD THAT'S IT. FOR THE ENTIRE THING. I hope you enjoyed the little bits of Spamano and OZNZ I put. I need to go to bed, like now. 
> 
> See you guys next time!


End file.
